The Golden Temptress
by Dan Sickles
Summary: Did you know there's not one TUDORS story about Lady Eleanor Luke? Seduced by the king, humiliated by the queen, tossed out of court like reeking garbage . . . it's time for golden-haired Lady Eleanor to have her revenge!
1. Lady In Disgrace

THE GOLDEN TEMPTRESS

_Chapter One: Lady In Disgrace_

Lady Eleanor Luke was finished at court. Bawling her eyes out, the beautiful blonde packed her things, wishing she had never fallen into temptation in the king's royal bed. How could she go home a failure? How could she face her family? If only she could start all over . . .

"Wait just a minute, my lady," said a commanding voice. "Your eyes are red, and your face is all swollen and puffy."

"Who's there?" Eleanor's misery increased tenfold when she recognized the king's powerful Lord Chancellor, Thomas Cromwell. Unlike the well-born nobles of the court, the mysterious, darkly handsome commoner had never been invited to any of the decadent parties and banquets where poor foolish Eleanor first caught the king's eye. He was rumored to _despise_ all women. And all the earthly pleasures.

"You must not leave the court looking miserable and forlorn." Cromwell produced a handkerchief and began blotting her tear-streaked face. "The thing to do is stiffen your spine, and show them you're not beaten. Damn the whole rotten pack!"

"Damn the whole rotten pack!" Eleanor looked up into the cold gray eyes of the austere Lord Chancellor, surprised to see that he was smiling back at her. Why was he being so kind? Imagining the answer made her blush with shame.

"No," the Lord Chancellor said quietly. "That's not what I want."

"B-but I don't understand! What do you want?"

"I want to send you to school."

"What do you mean? Girls don't go to school. If you mean a brothel . . ." Eleanor felt confused and dreadfully frightened. But those fiery words of moments ago came back to her. Damn Cromwell, damn them all! She stiffened her spine.

"Good, Lady Eleanor." His eyes seemed to search her soul. "Use that anger." Cromwell reached into his leather pouch, and gave her a tightly folded piece of parchment. "If you want to go home in disgrace, and marry some drunken dolt, simply throw this away. But if you have the courage to become something more, read and follow these instructions. A new life awaits you . . . if you have the courage."

"Master Secretary." Eleanor knew there was no use in sputtering an indignant refusal. Cromwell would merely mock her for her cowardice. Worse than that, he might pity her. So she put on a cold little smile, the kind one learned at court, and made a formal curtsey to the powerful statesman.

She promised herself that she would destroy the stupid scrap of parchment the moment she was out of his sight.

_A/N: Did you know there is not one story on this board about Lady Eleanor Luke? Seduced by the king, humiliated by the queen, thrown out on her own like reeking garbage . . . it's time for golden-haired Lady Eleanor to have her revenge!_


	2. Rest Stop

_Chapter Two: Rest Stop_

Rolling slowly over yet another rut in the muddy road, the carriage lurched and then heaved forward. Golden-haired Lady Eleanor Luke stifled a most unladylike curse as she dragged her eyes open, yanked out of sleep just when she had been drifting away at last. How she longed for sleep! Just a few moments of welcome forgetfulness . . .

The weary lady in the creaking carriage didn't want to remember her fall from grace. She didn't want to go home and explain to her parents why she had been expelled from the court of King Henry VIII. She didn't want to go home at all. Yet every turn of the carriage wheels brought her closer to her final destination, the once prosperous and now crumbling family estate. If she had remained pure, if she had made a good marriage, perhaps she could have helped to repair her family's sorry fortunes. Yet now all she had to bring home was dishonor and disgrace.

It would be better if she never went home at all . . .

"Halt, driver," the wretched beauty called, in a soft voice choked with tears. When that brought no response, she made her voice stronger, more aristocratic and commanding. "I said, halt! Pull over at that inn by the side of the road!"

The few gold coins she would spend could hardly matter. Before she presented herself to her parents, Eleanor needed time to think. And she also needed a bath and a night's rest.

"We're a bit short on rooms right now, my lady," said the fat, bald innkeeper said, looking the pale, travel-worn beauty up and down. A cunning gleam came to his eye. "Still, if you were willing to pay double now, we might be able to squeeze you into the servant's room, between the Widow Folger on the right-hand side and Lord Mumford on the left."

"Very well, but I require a hot bath before dinner."

The man simply looked at her. "There's no bathing tub in the servant's room, my lady. For tonight you're just going to have to make do with a basin of water like the rest of us. I'm sure your parents will have a very nice room waiting for you when you reach home, seeing as how you made them so proud at court."

"Thank you, innkeeper." Did the whole world know of her disgrace? Eleanor bit her lip, refusing to show rage and feed the gossip. Still, it took every ounce of self-control the disgraced lady possessed not to burst into tears when she got up to her narrow, drafty, and uncomfortable room.

The innkeeper had told the truth - this was a room fit only for a servant. A boy servant. Eleanor opened the tiny closet, looking for a place to hang her mud-spattered cloak. There were boots on the floor, and there was even a spare set of dark blue clothes hanging on a wooden peg. It was the type of outfit that might have once belonged to a page boy or a footman. Someone who was poor, but happy and free. Eleanor closed the closet door with a sigh, and turned back to the narrow bed.

She would only rest a little while, until it was time for dinner . . .


	3. Heath Blackwell

_Chapter Three: Heath Blackwell_

"I'm not a fool, Uncle Geoffrey. If the king wants me to marry, I'll marry. But this is a punishment, not a reward." The cynical, smoky-sounding voice belonged to a young man, tall and dark and diabolically handsome. He paced back and forth in a pair of skintight breeches molded to his powerful legs, his shirt and doublet flung carelessly over a nearby chair. When he splashed his face in the wash basin, powerful muscles flexed in his wide shoulders and slim back.

"Lady Eleanor Luke comes from a wealthy family, and she's said to be very beautiful. Her family has already agreed to the match. What more could a man ask for?" The man named Geoffrey slumped in a wide armchair by the fire. His round, flabby face looked kind, but his watery gray eyes were worried. "Heath, listen to me. You're a Blackwell, a man of honor. What you did in Ireland was unavoidable. But you don't want to offend the king. Not a second time."

"I don't want his unwanted leavings in my bed, either." The ruthless warrior's midnight-black eyes flashed lightning when he spoke. But cynical Heath was careful to lower his voice, as if suspecting that he might be overheard.

He didn't know how right he was.

Golden-haired Lady Eleanor Luke was kneeling next door, spying on the two men through the keyhole of a locked door. She had been asleep on a narrow servant's bed, but the sound of male voices roused her from uneasy dreams. Now she reeled back from the locked door, queasy with horror, one slim white hand clutching her throat.

How could they do this to her? Without even listening to her side of the story, her own family decided to get rid of her. They believed her so disgraced that they offered her to the first man who asked. And oh, what a vile brute he was! Eleanor's cheeks burned as she recalled the dark, cruel scorn that twisted Heath Blackwell's satanic features. It would be better to be dead than to be married to a man who despised her. But how could she escape?

Eleanor collapsed in the far corner of her tiny room, shedding tears as she leaned her head against the rough wood. The walls were so thin that she could hear the lady next door complaining about her dinner. Her voice was loud and lusty, and she sounded as though she must be very rich and proud - and very fat as well.

"What do you mean, you haven't got roast beef? I'm starving and I want a proper meal. Red meat, my good man, and lots of it! Oh, very well, bring me up a mutton pie. And after that, I want to speak to you about hiring a boy. Some bright local lad who's a quick learner. My fool of a husband fell over dead last month and I need a new apprentice."

Listening with her eyes closed, Eleanor could picture what the woman looked like. A double chin, dyed curls, a body that was heavy from years of prosperous living yet still ripely curved. A firm red mouth, commanding and cruel yet with a twist of humor. A name popped into the girl's head. Widow Abigail Folger, that was it. The woman next door was a widow, and very wealthy. And she wanted a boy.

Eleanor Luke was not a reckless girl by nature. She liked luxury and elegance, not unknown risks and wild adventure. But her whole world had been ruined, turned upside down by the betrayal of her family, her friends . . . and her king. There was no turning back. The golden-haired beauty was determined to take control of her own fate. Anything was better than a loveless marriage to a ruthless man whose cynicism mocked her suffering. A bitter, hardened rogue whose body was even more muscular than the king's, and whose darkly handsome features sparked only bitter memories and a fear she could not even name.

Her hands were trembling as she reached for the smart blue servant boy's uniform hanging in the tiny closet.


	4. Shocking Stories

_Chapter Four: Shocking Stories_

Abigail Folger was a big woman. She ate big, and she talked big. And when something was funny, the wealthy widow shook all over with gargantuan gales of infectious mirth. Even the walls seemed to shake to her big hearty laugh.

"Dear girl, you must be joking!" The auburn-haired older woman gave an unladylike snort, eyeing Eleanor Luke shrewdly while shoveling down a monstrous helping of cold mutton pie. "You _might_ pass for a boy dressed like that. But why should I risk my neck for kidnapping a sweet, helpless child? When your parents find out you've fled, they'll search high and low, and I'll get the blame for abducting a well-born lady, not a mere servant boy. And if the king should hear of it, I'll lose my head for sure."

"My parents won't be looking for me," Eleanor said hastily, desperate to keep her one chance of escape from slipping through her fingers. She eyed the widow's hearty dinner with despair, her hollow stomach nearly crying for food. "You see, good mistress, my own true mother died when I was just a babe. And then, a few years back, my father married a woman half his age. She wanted me out of the way so she could get her hands on my father's fortune. She took all I had, all my mother's things and even the dowry for my future marriage. When I complained to father he said I was no longer his daughter. So then I was sent to court to serve as a lady-in-waiting to the new queen." Eleanor lowered her eyes, and stared at the food on the widow's plate.

"Yes, well, that explains why you went to court," Widow Folger said skeptically, shoving her plate across the table. "But it doesn't explain why you left. A gorgeous girl like you should have had her pick of husbands. How did you get kicked out of court?"

"Oh!" Eleanor's mind went blank for a moment. She couldn't tell the truth – the wealthy widow would think she was no better than a whore! Stalling for time, she stuffed her mouth with mutton. The meat was tender, but spicy and salty. Eleanor suddenly realized her throat was utterly parched. She wished the widow would offer her some wine.

"The royal court is full of handsome men," Widow Folger noted, studying the young girl shrewdly as she filled her wine cup. "Did one of them deceive you? Or maybe force himself upon you?"

"No, no, it wasn't like that at all!" Eleanor refused to admit what a fool she'd been, trading her precious virginity for a king's fleeting favor. No man would ever fool her again! "It was only a harmless and girlish prank," she began, in a breathless voice. "The queen had just gotten a very lovely diamond necklace, and carelessly left it on her desk. Since I was new, a group of young ladies-in-waiting persuaded me, or rather forced me, to try it on for myself! I only meant to wear it for a minute or two, but it fit me perfectly. The other girls soon slipped away on other business. And while I was alone, admiring myself in the mirror, the queen's brother came in and saw me. So then I was accused of being a thief!" Eleanor felt tears filling her eyes, just as if her story was true. Well, it _was_ true, most of it. She quickly drank her wine.

"There, there," said Widow Abigail Folger. For the first time she really seemed touched by the young girl's misfortunes. "In a way you're lucky, you know. When he caught you alone, that no-good brother of the queen's might have done more than accuse you!"

"Oh, no, not George Boleyn! You have no idea what kind of stories circulate about him at court."

"Stories?" The Widow Folger looked very curious. "Dear me, you'd better have some more wine! What sort of stories?"

"Oh, shocking stories!" Eleanor could see the widow was starting to take an interest in her. She leaned forward in her chair. "George Boleyn has no use for women. Not even for his own wife! At court everyone knows the real truth about him. Now the night he was married . . ."

Eleanor told all the naughtiest stories about life at King Henry's court, each spicy tale giving her a delicious taste of revenge. Widow Abigail Folger laughed and laughed, her lusty outbursts seeming to shake the walls. Neither lady noticed how late the hour was getting, or the way their voices carried down the hall.


	5. Cornered

_Chapter Five: Cornered_

"You! Boy! Stop where you are!"

"Sir?" Eleanor's heart nearly stopped beating. She'd awoken early to prepare the Widow Folger's carriage for departure, certain that the stables would be deserted at this hour. She hadn't counted on Heath Blackwell awakening even earlier!

"Boy, do you serve Lady Eleanor Luke?" Heath was standing between her and the stable door. His lean, long-legged male silhouette seemed to loom over her.

"N-no, sir," Eleanor stammered, praying her boyish garments would conceal her true identity from this dark and dangerous man. "I serve the Widow Abigail Folger. I've never heard of any such lady!"

"Really?" Like a great cat, the disgraced ex-soldier moved closer. His musky scent filled the air, overpowering the ripe, primitive stable odors of straw and manure. "This morning the innkeeper told me the lady I am to be married was staying in the chamber next to mine. But when I knocked and entered, I found only an abandoned dress. Any idea where the lady might have gone, boy? Perhaps she was with you and your mistress last night. Perhaps you helped her to escape!"

"No sir!" Eleanor squeaked. Without realizing it, she had been backing up step by step as the predatory and powerful Heath came towards her. Now her skinny shoulders hit the stable wall with a thump. She felt powerless. Cornered.

There was nowhere to go.

"The girl is promised to me," the man whispered in her ear. "I don't like people who break their promises, lad. I don't like people who tell lies or pretend, either. Now tell me - was the lady with you last night?"

Eleanor shook her head, desperately wiggling in the grasp of the powerful male. "No, sir, I swear it was just me and the widow in her rooms last night!"

"Ah," Heath sighed, releasing her. She sagged against the wall. "And so I suppose you were the one making her laugh? Telling her stories about life at the king's court? My uncle and I could hear you all the way down the hall."

Eleanor's shoulders slumped. She knew now how foolish it had been to ever think she could pass for a boy. Still, some stubborn trace of pride kept her from giving in. "That was just gossip, sir. Things I've heard from London servants!"

"Well, I'm glad to hear it. Because if you were Lady Eleanor, do you know what I'd do to you?"

Eleanor swallowed. Her mouth was so dry. "No, sir," she whispered at last.

"Ah, but I think you do."

Eleanor closed her eyes. A horse snuffled. The floorboards creaked. And then Heath Blackwell kissed her.


	6. Rescued

_Chapter Six: Rescued_

Eleanor Luke knew about kisses. Shy, innocent kisses from all the little boys who wanted to marry her when she was six. Simple, lustful kisses from country squires when she was sixteen. Sly, silken kisses from experienced men of the royal court when she was twenty-one. And of course, the sickeningly greedy and almost maniacal kisses of King Henry VIII. And yet with all that kissing, Eleanor still found she had a thing or two to learn.

Heath Blackwell's kiss was like none other before. God knows there was nothing innocent about it. It wasn't a fierce kiss, either. Not greedy, not even hungry or demanding. It was just firm, and somehow final. Like the last piece of a puzzle falling into place. Or a pair of shackles snapping around the wrists of a prisoner.

"What the devil's going on in there?" The loud, lusty voice of Widow Abigail Folger broke the spell at once. It was still dark inside the early morning stable, so of course the older woman couldn't see what the two young people were doing. Eleanor scuttled clear of Heath's overpowering presence, wondering in a dazed way how she had become a willing participant in the kiss. Wondering how she could have blown her male disguise so completely!

"I was just questioning this . . . boy of yours, about the disappearance of my promised bride. Have you seen Lady Eleanor Luke, madam? I'm told she stayed here at the inn last night." Heath Blackwell's voice was dry, almost amused. As if the kiss hadn't meant anything to him at all.

"The only person I saw last night was this boy of mine," Abigail replied lewdly. "The two of us shared a bed together, isn't that right, Luke?"

Eleanor nodded vigorously, but she didn't dare speak. She was too afraid her voice would come out as a mere squeak.

"I find it hard to believe a lusty dame like yourself would settle for a mere boy." Heath Blackwell moved forward, so that he and the full-figured widow were standing toe to toe, eyeing each other with amused challenge.

"I find it hard to believe a bold lad like you would want a skinny little slip of a girl, especially one of those helpless aristocratic types. They're useless in bed, you know. All tears and whimpering!"

The dark features of Heath Blackwell wore a rare smile. "Perhaps you're right, ma'am. Only I gave my promise to the king not to let Lady Eleanor come to any harm. That boy of yours isn't really a boy at all, is he?"

Abigail put her hands on her hips. "The only way you'll find out, sir, is by undressing him here in the stables. And to do that, you'll have to undress me first! Feel up to the task?"

Heath grinned, and shook his head. "No, good lady. I'd rather not undertake such a monumental challenge. Where are the two of you headed, if I may ask?"

"To Bristol," the widow replied at once. "That's my home. I'm Abigail Folger, widow of Simon Folger, the great wool merchant. Everyone who's anyone in Bristol knows my house."

"Fair enough," the dark, dangerous young man replied, shaking her hand in honest, man-to-man fashion. "And I'm Heath Blackwell. You're a formidable woman, Mistress Abigail. And a woman of sense. So I can trust you to look after this, er, boy of yours, for a few weeks?"

"You can trust me to mind my own affairs, sir," the Widow Folger said grandly, looking and sounding just like a queen. "And I'll trust you to do the same. Boy, get into the carriage, and be quick about it!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Eleanor scuttled to safety in the carriage, nearly tripping over herself in frantic haste. She didn't dare look back, even for a second. But oh, she could just feel Heath Blackwell's eyes burning into her.

Just as she could still feel his lips on hers.


	7. Heartbreaker

_Chapter Seven: Heartbreaker_

"I just don't understand why he let me go." Wearing a moody frown as well as a boy's tight-fitting breeches and boots, Lady Eleanor Luke was a perfect picture of fretful discontent.

"Dear me, you sound almost disappointed!" Abigail Folger's jolly laugh made the whole table seem to shake. The two ladies had been on the road for three days, stopping only to eat and rest. For the wealthy widow it was little more than an exciting adventure. But for Lady Eleanor, disgraced and driven from the royal court, running from an unwanted marriage to a ruthless black-hearted rogue, escape was literally a matter of life and death.

"Of course I'm not _disappointed_," Eleanor hissed, lowering her voice to a whisper as an apple-cheeked servant girl set a steaming dinner tray down before her. "It's just that when he caught me in the stables the other day Heath Blackwell seemed _certain_ that I wasn't who I said I was." The beautiful fugitive took a worried look around the inn. "Not really a boy, I mean."

Abigail snorted. "Men always think they know everything, my love. That's why they're so easy to fool!" The fat and jolly widow wasted no time in devouring her dinner.

"Yes, perhaps you're right." Eleanor took up her spoon and sampled the savory stew. But her heart wasn't really in it. For the last three days, as she rattled along unfamiliar roads at a breakneck pace, all she'd done was to worry and wonder about Heath Blackwell. Was he in pursuit? Was he closing in on them even now? The strain was exhausting. Lately Eleanor was beginning to feel like a sleepwalker. She had very little appetite, and she wasn't sleeping.

"Of course I'm right," Abigail said briskly, pushing her plate away. "The truth is, my sweet, you've been off your food ever since we escaped Heath Blackwell's clutches. And don't think I haven't noticed those dark circles under your lovely blue eyes. There's something on your mind, my pet. Something you're not telling me."

"No, no! There's nothing wrong, I swear it! It's just been a long journey, that's all." Eleanor smiled at her companion. But inside she felt like a guilty little rat. She hated keeping secrets from a brave, true-hearted woman like Abigail Folger. The wealthy widow was so bold and straightforward in everything she said and did. Someday Eleanor wanted to be just like her.

Oh, but she couldn't tell her fearless guardian and protector that she'd actually _kissed_ Heath Blackwell. The widow would think she was weak, a whore just like everyone said. Or worse, she would think that Eleanor actually _wanted_ to marry a coarse, aggressive man of low character and habits who plainly despised her. But that was not going to happen. Not ever. No matter how much she hated lying to her friend!

"Would the young gentleman care for some wine?" It was the servant girl again, a fresh young thing with a pretty blush on her cheeks. The way she curtseyed and fluttered her long lashes suddenly made Eleanor feel quite sure of herself.

"Why yes, my beauty," the female fugitive replied, in a deep and manly voice. "And I'd also like a bed for the night."

"No, you wouldn't." Abigail Folger spoke softly, but firmly, deliberately putting her heavily-jeweled hand over Eleanor's empty cup. "The two of us would like fresh horses for our coach, my girl. My good-looking nephew here is _not_ what he pretends to be. I'm afraid he's nothing but a heartbreaker. But now it's time to ramble on."

_A/N: Why is Abigail mad at Eleanor? And BTW, can you spot the two Led Zeppelin classics in this chapter?_


	8. Home

_Chapter Eight: Home_

"Come along, boy! Haul my bags now, and be quick about it!"

"Coming, madame!" Eleanor struggled to keep up as the Widow Abigail Folger marched towards her waiting carriage. The longer the journey went on, the more demanding and impatient the older woman became. She was really starting to treat Eleanor as if she really were a servant!

"What do you plan to do with me once we reach Bristol?" The young woman asked, once they were safe inside the carriage once more. All of this traveling was really starting to make Eleanor long for the comforts of a cosy English home. Starting with a hot bath!

"That depends," the older woman said, studying her young companion with hawk-like eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. "You're getting better and better at playing the part of a young man. Yet I don't know if I like the kind of young man you're becoming. Why did you flirt with that tavern girl in such a vulgar fashion?"

"Why, I was just - just being friendly, as gentlemen always do!" Eleanor reached up to toy with her long golden hair, not remembering that she was garbed as a boy and that her hair was concealed under her wide-brimmed hat.

"You were friendly with a lot of gentlement at court, weren't you?" Abigail snapped. "No, don't give me that helpless, wounded look. I'm not a man to be spellbound by those big blue eyes. Tell me the truth!"

"It was the king," Eleanor muttered, her eyes downcast. "He was the only lover I had at court, I swear it!"

"Then you're not a virgin?"

Eleanor shook her head.

"There, there, my love," Abigail Folger said, hugging the tearful young girl. "It's happened to many a young lass before you, and will happen to many more yet. We'll find a way to make use of you, never fear. But don't ever lie to me again!"

"I just wanted my disguise to be convincing," Eleanor sniffled, drying her eyes with a borrowed handkerchief. "When I wear boy's clothes I just feel that I can get away with anything!"

"Well, I can hardly blame you for that!" The older woman's lusty laugh filled the carriage. "The trick is to make use of your talents in a way that can profit us both. But first, we need to get you home, where you'll be safe."

"Home," Eleanor repeated. It would be good to be home. Putting her head on the older woman's shoulder, she watched the miles of English countryside roll by. So many miles, so many roads to travel. With each turn of the carriage wheels, her head sank lower and lower. In no time at all she was asleep.


	9. Big Plans

_Chapter Nine: Big Plans_

"Where am I?" Lady Eleanor woke up with a start, feeling lost and disoriented. The royal court, the treachery of the Boleyns, her cold unloving parents – all seemed very clear in her mind. Yet she could not remember how she came to be _here_.

Rolling over in her rather lumpy bed, the bewildered blonde beauty stretched and yawned, taking stock of her surroundings. The room was clean, but small and bare – a servant's room. Abigail Folger, that was it. _She_ was the one who had brought her here. Abigail was charming, yet her temper could be fierce. Eleanor liked her. But could she trust the older woman?

Just then the widow called to her, shouting that her breakfast was getting cold. Kicking free of the covers, Eleanor tumbled out of bed, wincing as her bare feet hit the icy floor. Her clothes . . . where were her clothes?

When she flung open the creaky door and looked in the musty closet, Eleanor saw no sign of the boyish garb she had worn on her journey to Bristol. There was nothing to wear but a lady's ruffled chamber robe and a pair of bed slippers. Eleanor dressed as quickly as she could, fumbling a bit with the frills and lace. Was she a prisoner here? Why had the widow taken her clothes?

"Ah, there you are. Sleep well?" The Widow Folger was already dressed, seated behind a massive oak desk in her study. She took up a long feather quill, and dipped it into a pot of ink. Several heavy coin pouches were on the desk as well, and she seemed to be doing sums while counting all the coins.

"I slept very well, thank you." Eleanor was amazed to see a woman doing her own accounts. At court ladies were confined to gossiping, embroidering and plinking out love songs on the lute. It was frightening to realize how little one learned in that place.

"I'm glad you slept," Abigail said, not looking up from her accounts. "Now it's time to begin the day's business. But first a bite to eat. Breakfast, or I suppose we should call it lunch."

"Is it really that late?" Eleanor fingered the ruffled collar of her robe, feeling awkward about sitting down to eat all alone. A low wooden table had been set before the fire, heavily laden with warm rolls, steaming hot tea, fresh butter and pots of jam.

"Is it late? Dear child, the morning has come and gone!" Abigail Folger threw down her quill and leaned back in her chair, stretching until her bones cracked. "I was a little slow getting started myself this morning. Who wouldn't be after getting home at such an ungodly hour! But business doesn't wait. Of course the first thing I did was to send our travel clothes out to be washed, or else just burned. One can't stay clean on the road. All that dust and dirt, and the _grease_ in those filthy inns!"

"Yes, I wondered where my clothes were." Eleanor crammed a buttered roll into her greedy gullet, the warm dairy-fresh butter seeming to melt in her mouth. She felt a bit of a pig, but she remembered now that she had pushed her soup away at dinner last night. Too tired to eat. She slept in the carriage, but when they finally arrived at the widow's place she was too worn out to notice much. All she remembered was climbing out of the carriage and falling into bed. Abigail Folger was laughing all the while, telling the crowd of sleepy servants that the "poor weary gentleman" was really just a very weary young lady!

"Don't you worry about clothes." Abigail smiled, watching the eager way Eleanor devoured her breakfast. "If all goes well you'll be swimming in new gowns by Christmas. While you were upstairs sleeping I received a letter. It's from that clever man Cromwell, at court. It seems he's got plans for you. Big plans."

"Oh, dear." Suddenly Lady Eleanor Luke lost all her appetite.


	10. Great Temptation

_Chapter Ten: Great Temptation _

"Cromwell knows I'm here?" Fear and foreboding filled the blue-eyed beauty's paper-white face. Lady Eleanor Luke had been certain that she'd left the past behind her - that the corrupt king and his decadent court would never even look for her. But if Cromwell knew where she was, so did the king. And so did the villainously attractive Heath Blackwell!

"Read the letter, my dear." Widow Abigail Folger gave a throaty chuckle, eyeing the distressed beauty with amusement. "I've got to go out on business in a few minutes. Why not sit down here, at my desk, and see what those clever men at court have in mind for you?" The older woman took Eleanor's breakfast tray and left the study, closing the door softly behind her.

With trembling fingers, Eleanor tore open the sealed letter.

_My dear Lady Eleanor,_ (it began.)

_Late last night Heath Blackwell appeared at court, announcing that he was not yet ready to marry you as planned. The king was in a great rage, but Blackwell stood cool and unmoved and said only that he refused to take any woman against her will. The man's bold defiance might well have cost him his head, but at that moment Queen Anne made a most improper joke suggesting that Blackwell was not man enough to control his woman and that in reality you had simply fled from his ugly face. Then there was much laughter, which the king joined. But still Heath Blackwell was quite unmoved. He said only that you had chosen to learn the wool trade from Widow Abigail Folger, a wealthy woman in Bristol. And that he would claim you when the proper time came, just as the king ordered._

_Now Lady Eleanor, you must be aware that it is a dangerous thing to defy the king's wishes. Heath Blackwell may be a fearless and deadly fighter, but no man can stand against England's king for long. And if he falls, lady, you will fall as well, unless you are able to aid the king and gain his favor. Now some months ago, Heath Blackwell was in Ireland putting down a rebellion. And he is said to have looted an ancient monastery there, filled with gold and treasure of great age and value. But somehow this treasure disappeared, and the king never received his share. If you, Lady Eleanor, through persuasion or other means, could find this treasure and tell the king of its whereabouts, he would reward you generously and also cancel your marriage to Heath Blackwell, if that is what you desire. On the other hand, if you marry Heath Blackwell willingly and become his wife, the king expects you to obey him meekly and submissively until such time as the king is able to destroy him. And then he will gladly find you a new husband. _

_Sincere regards, _

_Thomas Cromwell_

_P.S. Abigail Folger is one of the ablest and most intelligent women in England. I have often employed her on private business and have always been very satisfied with the results. You may stay with her as long as you wish and rely on her as you would your own mother - but on no account tell her about the missing Irish gold!_

"Garh!" Eleanor made a most unladylike noise of disgust as she threw Cromwell's letter onto the fire. Just reading the sly counselor's cynical words made her feel as if she needed a bath. The king expected her to seduce and betray her own intended husband! Heath Blackwell expected her to fall into his arms the moment he deigned to claim her hand. And Cromwell told her to trust Abigail like a mother and deceive her at the same time!

The blonde beauty sat back and stared into the flames, watching the expensive parchment curl up and blacken until it existed no more. She had to find a way to outsmart them, all of them. And teach Heath Blackwell a lesson. But how?

"I'm off, love," Widow Folger called from the doorway. "I have business at the merchant's guild. There's some mending and stitching you can do here at home, if you'd like. Nice work for a fine well-born lady like you."

Eleanor put on her most determined face. "I want to go with you," she said, her heart pounding. "I want to learn your trade."

The widow laughed. "Well, you can't do that from home - and you can't do it wearing a bed gown, either! Let's go upstairs, and find you something to wear."

Grateful as she was, Eleanor still felt guilty as she trailed up the stairs after the older woman. Part of her wanted to tell Abigail everything right away - but part of her was too afraid that Abigail would side with the king and Cromwell, and force her to spy on Heath Blackwell. The gold was a great tempation to all of them.

Just as teaching Heath Blackwell a lesson was a great temptation to her!


	11. Spotted

_Chapter Eleven: Spotted_

"Come along, my dear. The coach is waiting. That's enough labor for one day, don't you think?"

"Oh yes, Madame Abigail. And thank you for the opportunity!" Though she tried to appear eager and grateful, Lady Eleanor Luke couldn't help yawning loudly behind her hand as she followed Abigail Folger down to the street. The long day in the warehouse sorting bales of wool had taught her a great deal about England's most important product.

"Do all these warehouses hold nothing but wool for shipment?" The slim blonde beauty asked, pulling her cloak tighter around her neck. It was a gray and chilly afternoon, and rain was threatening as the daylight faded.

"No, no, no!" the wealthy widow laughed, helping the young girl climb up into the waiting carriage. "All kinds of things, all kinds of precious goods from all over the world. Bristol is our second largest port after London, you know. Everything of value that enters this country has to be inspected and stored in warehouses like these."

That gave Eleanor something to think about. If a darkly handsome, villainous rascal like Heath Blackwell had really stolen the Irish gold, he would have had to ship it back to England in a sailing vessel. The goods would have to be stored somewhere. But where?

The Widow Folger's large, luxurious coach gave a heavy lurch and began rattling down the narrow street. On either side, Eleanor saw nothing but warehouses - row after row of long, low sheds stuffed with products from all over the world. A person could search each one for weeks, she thought, resting her cheek against the cool glass. Without a clue, she had no chance to uncover the illicit treasure. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack!

"I shouldn't wonder if we're in for some rain tonight," the Widow Folger grumbled. "And I have to be out in the foul weather. I have to pay a call on an old friend to discuss sheep breeding!"

"Do you want me to come along?" Eleanor sat up straight and smiled to show she was eager to help. It was the least she could do, though really she felt she'd had enough talk about sheep for one day. She felt positively drained.

"You are a sweet girl, aren't you." The Widow gave a low chuckle. "Actually, my dear, it's better that you don't come. My friend is actually rather a naughty old rogue and - well, two's company and three's a crowd."

"Oh, I see." Eleanor felt a blush stain her cheeks in the warm darkness of the carriage. She hadn't ever imagined a woman Abigail Folger's age would still be interested in men! That gave her something else to think about. Yet for the moment, she was content to rest her head back against the window pane, and watch the crowds scurrying here and there. So many people in a busy city like Bristol, she thought, yawning deeply. All in such a hurry . . .

With her eyes half shut, already thinking about a bath and bed, Eleanor didn't really notice the faces in the scurrying crowd. Not until one skinny, sly-looking young man with sneaky expression on his fox-like face caught her eye. Without even noticing it, Lady Eleanor suddenly realized she was staring right into the face of George Boleyn!

"Something the matter?" Widow Folger enquired, as Eleanor shifted her position in the coach.

"Just a crick in my neck," the blonde beauty said, apologetically. The Widow Folger instantly made room for her, of course, allowing her to snuggle in close and putting her warm cloak around Eleanor's shoulders. It was so embarrassing, sagging into Abigail's warm embrace, resting her head on the older woman's firm shoulder. But the sight of George Boleyn had been most upsetting. He was devious and cruel, and he knew far too many of her secrets. What was he doing in Bristol? Was he looking for her?

Eleanor couldn't do anything but close her eyes, and pray to God she hadn't been spotted. She needed to think, to plan how to deal with this new threat. But her thoughts drifted into vague images of danger and foreboding. And the swaying of the coach soon lulled her into a fitful sleep.


End file.
